But in what mood she dreaded to think.
For the knowledge of her father's capability of guilt seemed to have
opened a dark gulf in his character, into the depths of which she
trembled to look. At one moment she would fain have claimed
protection against the life she must lead, for some time at least,
alone with a murderer! She thought of his gloom, before his mind
was haunted by the memory of so terrible a crime; his moody,
irritable ways. She imagined the evenings as of old; she, toiling
at some work, long after houses were shut, and folks abed; he, more
savage than he had ever been before with the inward gnawing of his
remorse. At such times she could have cried aloud with terror, at
the scenes her fancy conjured up.
But her filial duty, nay, her love and gratitude for many deeds of
kindness done to her as a little child, conquered all fear. She
would endure all imaginable terrors, although of daily occurrence.
And she would patiently bear all wayward violence of temper; more
than patiently would she bear it--pitifully, as one who knew of some
awful curse awaiting the blood-shedder.
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